In concert

Frenzy of gigs in the last few weeks. I'm a little bit meh about clubs at the moment but live bands and lager in plastic I cannot get enough of. In addition to the foursome below I also have tickets to see M83, Howling Bells, Morrissey (twice), Esser and, best of all, All Tomorrow’s Parties at Minehead Butlins. The line-up is a complete wet dream, regard: Breeders, Shellac, Gang Of Four (screeeam!), Throwing Muses, Tricky, Foals, Holy Fuck, Bon Iver, CSS, Teenage Fanclub, Yann Tiersen and Deerhunter. I mean, amaze. Plus it’s a complete elderly person’s festival, meaning you stay in a chalet, everything’s indoors, there are restaurants on site, all the pool facilities there for you to use, no rain, no mud, no mess. Smashing. I am thirty-one now after all.

So a quick rundown of the bands who’ve flashed their stuff for me of late …



Of Montreal @ Club Academy
It will be a while before I see a gig as fun and exciting as this I'm sure. The usual epic setlist from Athens’ almost-finest accompanied by the ever-weirder ‘rabbit rabbit’ stage dramas, costume changes and general art happenings to back the genre defying twitchy glam disco mess of OM’s music. Really a mind-changing event for anyone on the brink of falling in love with Kevin Barnes, he of the 1970s footballler’s name (at least that’s what it always makes me think of). A classic Manchester weeknight event at which the crowd decided to get totally wrecked and go for it so the whole place was a complete party. Totally on top of their game, shocked that they’re playing venues this small really.


La Roux @ Contort Yourself, Roadhouse
Cheer up love. She’s far too cool to smile, but, well, she just is that cool. In unsuitable so-gross-it’s-ace knitwear, the ginger princess from Brixton wooed a shit-faced room full of people who’d had their dancing interrupted but she seemed to convert most of them. I cannot leave the flat these days without playing ‘Quicksand’ or ‘In For The Kill'. Time will tell if she can muster a whole album of similar gems or if something else is up her batwing sleeves. I think some filthy collaborations are in order.




Asboi Seksu @ Roadhouse
Dreamy huge wall of guitar noise stuff but interspersed with crystally smoky fragile teardrop tunes too. Yuki Chikudate I think is one of the coolest people in music just now. Adorable. Impressive overall but maybe not the right venue for them. They’re still relatively obscure but since shoegaze seems to be having a minor renaissance (I know!) and it’s a tag that seems to follow them then big things may yet follow. Perfect to listen to in the comfort of your home under headphones and blankets though. Plus they’re on One Little Indian over here. (I know!)



Late Of The Pier @ Union
When I saw Wire recently I was the youngest audience member by about fifteen years. Tonight I am the oldest by about the same. I shit you not, the kids love this band. Not much to play apart from the album (“We’ve run out of songs, can you hang on while we write some more?”) but it’s a fine album and 'Bathroom Gurgle' slays me every time, even tonight when it’s cruelly interrupted by a blown fuse. They pick up where they left off and nobody cares. a jot Now that’s a tune. If I was rich these boys would be my party band every time.

Go on, I'll chuck in a Spotify sampler for you too ...

Music, Vermouth, Sex and Poetry

Speaking of music, a fine gig was thrown by Coraline in the sumptuous upstairs room at Deaf Institute to celebrate the release of their fantastic first EP. I am determined to throw a party in that room, it is officially my favourite space in Manchester. Gutted I couldn’t stretch to the Holy Fuck show there following their stint supporting Foals at the Academy. Seeing them twice in one night on a Wednesday though, even I have limits. Foals themselves were quite quite brilliant. Very exciting prolonged intro with massive shadows of the band cast the full length of the venue walls. Spine tingling. The songs are just something else entirely played live, fuelled I suspect by the power emitted from Yannis’ now enormous hairdo. The kids loved ‘em, I’ve never seen so many stylish and mashed children on a week night. They knew all the moves. Better than a cup a soup in front of Desperate Housewives. Don’t like the new Academy bar though, yuck. The bouncers were monsters too, sniffing people’s drinks and ID-ing all and sundry. Mind your own business and watch the band.



Forgot to mention my transplendently splendiferous Sex and The City party. I had a grand screening of the movie at my gaff and a right old knees-up it was. No attention to detail was spared. I had a playlist assembled featuring songs from the series (Cheryl Lynn, The Source feat. Candi Staton, ‘Moonriver’, ‘Are You Gonna Go My Way?’) culminating in the series and movie theme tunes for added excitement. God what an anorak I am. I screened two carefully selected episodes as pre-movie trailers (the one where she breaks up with Aidan by the fountain, the one where Big leaves for California and Miranda has the baby) to an even more carefully-selected audience of appreciative girls and gay boys. Dear Paul even dragged himself out of his sick bed to attend and proved himself a sterling mixologist making Martinis, clean and dirty, and Cosmopolitans till his perfectly-toned arms ached. Fun fun fun.



In other news I recently got myself a nice eight quid, austere, to-the-bone haircut as a kind of baptism into my new life and to celebrate our current wartime penury. My god I was freezing. Check out my skull.


After the partying described passim, the madness came to a crashing halt, as these things do. I went to the Warehouse Party’s Eat Your Own Ears shindig and could only withstand three songs from Late Of The Pier before I had to retreat home trembling. The night before had been unbelievably sticky, finishing at 8 am with bruises, Noilly Prat all over the carpet and a trashed flat. Honestly, at my age. Lesson learnt.

More cerebral and low-key adventures are now in order. To that end I did this. And I am also reviewing the Manchester Poetry Prize Gala on Thursday night. Exciting stuff. Looking forward to seeing Carol Ann Duffy again, whom I adore, especially since the drunken night when she held my head in her hands and said, ‘You look like a poet. Are you? You look like David’s Michelangelo.’ A memory I will take with me to the grave.

Lastly, and most importantly of all, I sat down and worked on The Novel for the first time in weeks, rattling off an entire chapter in one evening. This means I have three chapters to go and the writing is DONE. Then comes the edit. I am geared up for it now more than ever. Watch this space.